r 


LIBRARY 

OF    THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Class 


Ct)t 


of  Bespatr 


)^attl  dBluet  anti  jtilotgan 

fean  jfrancisco  :  :  :  Q&  €  9&  J  J 


Copyright,  1902 
by  DAVID  STARR  JORDAN 

Entered  at  Stationer's  Hall 
London 


PRINTED   BY  THE  STANLEY-TAYLOR   COMPANY     SAN   FRANCISCO 


TO 

JOHN    MAXSON   STILLMAN 
IN   TOKEN   OF   GOOD    CHEER 

A  darkening  sky  and  a  whitening  sea, 
And  the  wind  in  the  palm  trees  tall ; 

Soon  or  late  comes  a  call  for  me, 

Down  from  the  mountain  or  up  from  the  sea, 
Then  let  me  lie  where  I  fall. 

And  a  friend  may  write  —  for  friends  there  be, 

On  a  stone  from  the  gray  sea  wall, 
Jungle  and  town  and  reef  and  sea  — 
I  loved  God's  Earth  and  His  Earth  loved  me, 
Taken  for  all  in  all. " 


is  pout  da?  and  mint,  tfie  only  nap 

toe  Bate,  tfje  nap  in  to&icl)  toe  piap  out 

part   Wat  our  part  map  Siffnif?  in  tfje 

great  to&ole,  toe  ma?  not  understand*  but 

toe  are  fjere  to  plap  it,  and  noto  10  our 

time.  <HW  toe  fenoto,  it  i0  a  part  ot 

action*  not  ot  tofjining*  It  is  a  part 

of  lobe*  not  cynicism.  It  is  for 

us  to  express  lobe  in  terms  of 

Ijuman  helpfulness*    c&is 

toe  iinoto*  for   toe  $abe 

learned  from  sad  esperi* 

ence  tfiat  an?  otfier 

course  of  life  leads 

totoard    deca? 

and   toaste* 


: :  Cfje  $J)tl02!0$)2>  of  Btcpatr  : : 

•••^•'••••••^^^^••••••••'•••^^^^^••••••••••••••••••""••^••^•••^^^^••^•••^^••••a 

THE  BUBBLES  OF  SAKI. 


" 


From  Fitzgerald's  exquisite  version  of  the 
Rubaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam,  I  take  the  fol- 
lowing quatrains  which  may  serve  as  a  text  for 
what  I  have  to  say : 

So  when  the  angel  of  the  darker  Drink 
At  last  shall  find  you  by  the  river-brink, 
And  offering  you  his  cup,  invite  your  Soul 
Forth  to  your  lips  to  quaff,  you  shall  not 
shrink. 

Why,  if  the  soul  can  fling  the  Dust  aside, 
And  naked  on  the  air  of  Heaven  ride, 
Wert  not  a  shame — wert  not  a  shame  for  him 
In  this  clay  carcase  crippled  to  abide  ? 

'Tis  but  a  tent  where  takes  his  one-day's  rest 
A  Sultan  to  the  realm  of  Death  addrest ; 
The  Sultan  rises,  and  the  dark  Ferrash 
Strikes,  and  prepares  it  for  another  guest. 

And  fear  not  lest  Existence,  closing  your 
Account,  and  mine,  shall  know  the  like  no 

more; 

The  Eternal  Saki  from  that  bowl  hath  pour'd 
Millions  of  bubbles  like  us,  and  will  pour. 

5 


$i)tlosopf)2  of  Begjmtr  :: 


When  you  and  I  behind  the  veil  are  past, 
Oh,  but  the  long,  long  while  the  world  shall 

last, 

Which  of  our  coming  and  departure  heeds 
As  the  Sev'n  Seas  shall  heed  a  pebble-cast. 

A  moment's  halt  —  a  momentary  taste 
Of  Being  from  the  Well  amid  the  waste, 
And  lo  !  —  the  phantom  caravan  has  reach*  d 
The  Nothing  it  set  out  from  —  O,  make  haste  ! 


There  was  the  door  to  which  I  found  no  key; 
There  was  the  veil  through  which  I  could  not 

see: 

Some  little  talk  awhile  of  Me  and  Thee 
There  was — and  then  no  more  of  Thee  and 

Me. 


Why,  all  the  Saints  and  Sages  who  discuss*  d 
Of  the  two  worlds  so  learnedly  are  thrust 
Like  foolish  prophets  forth;  their  words  to 

scorn 
Are  scattered  and  their  mouths  are  stopt  with 

dust. 


6 


: :  Cfre  Pjtlogopj) g  of  Btgpatr  ; : 

With  them  the  seed  of  wisdom  did  I  sow, 
And  with  my  own  hand  wrought  to  make  it 

grow; 

And  this  was  all  the  harvest  that  I  reap'd — 
"  I  come  like  water,  and  like  wind  I  go." 


Ah  Love,  could  thou  and  I  with  Him  con- 
spire 

To  grasp  this  sorry  scheme  of  Things  entire, 
Would  we  not  shatter  it  to  bits — and  then 
Re-mould  it  nearer  to  the  heart's  desire ! 

Yon  rising  Moon  that  looks  for  us  again — 
How  oft  hereafter  will  she  wax  and  wane ; 
How  oft  hereafter  rising  look  for  us 
Through  this  same  garden — and  for  one  in 
vain! 

And  when  like  her,  O  Saki,  you  shall  pass 
Among  the  guests,  star-scattered  on  the  grass, 
And  in  your  blissful  errand  reach  the  spot 
Where  I  made  one — turn  down  an  empty 
glass ! 

*     *     * 

And,  again,  in  another  poem  from  Carmen 
Silva's  Roumanian  folk-songs : 

7 


: :  Cije  $l)tlos0$)2  of  JSespatr  : : 

HOPELESS. 

/»/0  /fo  0»V/  /  gazedy  and  fear  came  on  me, 
Then  said  the  mist :  "  /  weep  for  the  lost  sun . ' ' 

We  sat  beneath  our  tent; 

Then  he  that  hath  no  hope  drew  near  us  there, 

And  sat  him  down  by  us. 

We  asked  him :    "  Hast  thou  seen  the  plains, 

the  mountains?" 
And  he  made  answer :    "  I  have  seen  them 

all." 
And  then  his  cloak  he  showed  us,  and  his 

shirt, 
Torn  was  the  shirt,  there,  close  above  the 

heart, 
Pierced  was  the  breast,  there,  close  above  the 

heart — 

The  heart  was  gone. 
And  yet   he   trembled   not,  the  while  we 

looked, 
And  sought  the  heart,  the  heart  that  was  not 

there. 

He  let  us  look.  And  he  that  had  no  hope 
Smiled,  that  we  grew  so  pale,  and  sang  us 

songs. 

Then  we  did  envy  him,  that  he  could  sing 
Without  a  heart  to  suffer  what  he  sang. 

8 


of 


And  when  he  went,  he  cast  his  cloak  about 

him, 
And  those  that  met  him,  they  could  never 

guess 

How  that  his  shirt  was  torn  about  the  heart, 
And  that  his  breast  was  pierced  above  the 

heart, 

And  that  the  heart  was  gone. 

/  gazed  into  the  misty  and  fear  came  on  me, 
Then  said  the  mist  :  "  /  weep  for  the  lost  sun.1  ' 


9 


: :  Cfje  $1)0000]$?  of  3Be$patr  : : 

This  poem  of  Omar  and  of  Fitzgerald  is 
perhaps  our  best  expression  of  the  sadness  and 
the  grandeur  of  insoluble  problems.  It  is  the 
sweetness  of  philosophical  sorrow  which  has 
no  kinship  with  misery  or  distress.  In  the 
strains  of  the  saddest  music  the  soul  finds  the 
keenest  delight.  The  same  sweet,  sorrow- 
ful pleasure  is  felt  in  the  play  of  the  mind 
about  the  riddles  which  it  cannot  solve. 

In  the  presence  of  the  infinite  problem  of 
life,  the  voice  of  Science  is  dumb,  for  Science 
is  the  coSrdinate  and  corrected  expression  of 
human  experience,  and  human  experience 
must  stop  with  the  limitations  of  human  life. 
Man  was  not  present  "When  the  founda- 
tions of  the  Earth  were  laid,"  and  beyond 
the  certainty  that  they  were  laid  in  wisdom 
and  power,  man  can  say  little  about  them. 
Man  finds  in  tKe  economy  of  nature  "no 
trace  of  a  beginning ;  no  prospect  of  an  end !" 
He  may  feel  sure,  with  Hutton,  that  "  time 
is  as  long  as  space  is  wide."  But  he  cannot 
conceive  of  space  as  actually  without  limit, 
nor  can  he  imagine  any  limiting  conditions. 
He  cannot  think  of  a  period  before  time 
began,  nor  of  a  state  in  which  time  shall  be 
no  more.  The  mind  fails  before  the  idea  of 

10 


of 


time's  eternal  continuity.  So  time  becomes 
to  man  merely  the  sequence  of  the  earthly 
events  in  which  he  and  his  ancestors  have 
taken  part.  Even  thus  limited  it  is  sadly  im- 
mortal, while  man's  stay  on  the  earth  is  but 
of  "  few  days  and  full  of  trouble/'  "  Oh,  but 
the  long,  long  while  this  world  shall  last  !  " 
or  as  the  grim  humorist  puts  it,  "  we  shall 
be  a  long  time  dead." 

Though  the  meaning  of  time,  space,  exist- 
ence lies  beyond  our  reach,  yet  some  sort  of 
solution  of  the  infinite  problem  the  human 
heart  demands.  We  find  in  life  a  power  for 
action,  limited  though  this  power  may  be. 
Life  is  action,  and  action  is  impossible  if  de- 
void of  motive  or  hope. 

It  is  my  purpose  here  to  indicate  some 
part  of  the  answer  of  Science  to  the  Philoso- 
phy of  Despair.  Direct  reply  Science  has 
none.  We  cannot  argue  against  a  singer  or  a 
poet.  The  poet  sings  of  what  he  feels,  but 
Science  speaks  only  of  what  we  know.  We 
feel  infinity,  but  we  cannot  know  it,  for  to  the 
highest  human  wisdom  the  ultimate  truths 
of  the  universe  are  no  nearer  than  to  the  child. 
Science  knows  no  ultimate  truths.  These 
are  beyond  the  reach  of  man,  and  all  that 

II 


of 


;  : 


man  knows  must  be  stated  in  terms  of  his  ex- 
perience. But  as  to  human  experience  and 
conduct,  Science  has  a  word  to  say. 

Therefore  Science  can  speak  of  the  causes 
and  results  of  Pessimism.  It  can  touch  the 
practical  side  of  the  riddle  of  life  by  asking 
certain  questions,  the  answers  to  which  lie 
within  the  province  of  human  experience. 
Among  these  are  the  following  : 

Why  is  there  a  "  Philosophy  of  Despair  ?  " 

Can  Despair  be  wrought  into  healthful  life  ? 

In  what  part  of  the  Universe  are  you  and 
what  are  you  doing  ? 

Personal  despair  or  discouragement  may 
rise  from  failure  of  strength  or  failure  of 
plans.  This  is  a  matter  of  every-day  occur- 
rence. The  "  best  laid  schemes  o'  mice  and 
men  "  generally  go  wrong,  no  doubt,  but  this 
fact  has  little  to  do  with  the  Philosophy  of 
Pessimism.  It  is  natural  for  mice  and  men 
to  try  again  and  to  gain  wisdom  from  failures. 
"  By  the  embers  of  loss  we  count  our  gains/* 

The  Pessimism  of  Youth  we  may  first  con- 
sider :  In  the  transition  from  childhood  to 
manhood  great  changes  take  place  in  the 
nervous  system.  There  is  for  a  time  a  period 
of  confusion,  in  which  the  nerve  cells  are  ac- 

12 


::  C£e  ^fnlosiopfip  of  Bespatr  :: 


quiring  new  powers  and  new  relations.  This 
is  followed  by  a  time  of  joy  and  exuberance, 
a  sense  of  a  new  life  in  a  new  world,  a  feeling 
of  new  power  and  adequacy,  the  thought  that 
life  is  richer  and  better  worth  living  than  the 
child  could  have  supposed. 

To  this  in  turn  comes  a  feeling  of  reaction. 
The  joys  of  life  have  been  a  thousand  times 
felt  before  they  come  to  us.  We  are  but  fol- 
lowing part  of  a  cut-and-dried  program,  "per- 
forming actions  and  reciting  speeches  made 
up  for  us  centuries  before  we  were  born/' 
The  new  power  of  manhood  and  womanhood 
which  seemed  so  wonderful  find  their  close 
limitations.  As  our  own  part  in  the  Universe 
seems  to  shrink  as  we  take  our  place  in  it,  so 
does  the  Universe  itself  seem  to  grow  small, 
hard  and  unsympathetic.  Very  few  young 
men  or  young  women  of  strength  and  feeling 
fail  to  pass  through  a  period  of  Pessimism. 
With  some  it  is  merely  an  affectation  caught 
from  the  cheap  literature  of  decadence.  It 
then  may  find  expression  in  imitation,  as  a  few 
years  ago  the  sad-hearted  youth  turned  down 
his  collar  in  sympathy  with  the  "  conspicuous 
loneliness  "  that  took  the  starch  out  of  the 
collar  of  Byron.  "  The  youth,"  says  Zang- 

13 


of 


will,  "  says  bitter  things  about  Life  which 
Life  would  have  winced  to  hear  had  it  been 
alive."  With  others  Pessimism  has  deeper 
roots  and  finds  its  expression  in  the  poetry  or 
philosophy  of  real  despair. 

This  adolescent  Pessimism  cannot  be 
wrought  into  action.  The  mood  disappears 
when  real  action  is  demanded.  The  Pessim- 
ism of  youth  vanishes  with  the  coming  of  life. 
Through  the  rush  of  the  new  century,  the  fad 
of  the  drooping  spirit  has  already  given  way 
to  the  fad  of  the  strenuous  life.  Equally  un- 
reasoning it  may  be,  but  far  more  wholesome. 

But  if  action  is  impossible,  the  mood  re- 
mains. And  here  arises  the  despair  of  the 
highly  educated.  The  purpose  of  knowledge 
is  action.  But  to  refuse  action  is  to  secure 
time  for  the  acquisition  of  more  knowledge. 
It  is  written  in  the  very  structure  of  the  brain 
that  each  impression  of  the  senses  must  bring 
with  it  the  impulse  to  act.  To  resist  this  im- 
pulse is  in  turn  to  destroy  it  and  to  substitute 
a  dull  soul-ache  in  its  place.  "  Much  study 
is  a  weariness  of  the  flesh/'  and  the  experience 
of  all  the  ages  brings  only  despair  if  it  cannot 
be  wrought  into  life.  This  lack  of  balance 
between  knowledge  and  achievement  is  the 

14 


of  3Bespatr  :: 


main  element  in  a  form  of  ineffectiveness 
which  with  various  others  has  been  un- 
critically called  Degeneration.  As  the  com- 
mon pleasures  which  arise  from  active  life 
become  impossible  or  distasteful,  the  desire 
for  more  intense  and  novel  joys  comes  in,  and 
with  the  goading  of  the  thirst  for  these  comes 
ever  deeper  discouragement. 

At  the  best,  the  tendency  of  large  knowl- 
edge, not  vitalized  by  practical  experience,  is 
to  spend  itself  in  cynical  criticism,  in  futile 
efforts  to  tear  down  without  feeling  the  higher 
obligation  to  build  up.  For  it  is  the  essence 
of  this  form  of  Pessimism  to  feel  that  there  is 
nothing  on  earth  worth  the  trouble  of  build- 
ing. The  real  is  only  a  "sneering  comment" 
on  the  ideal,  and  man's  life  is  too  short  to 
make  any  action  worth  while. 

"  With  her  the  seed  of  Wisdom  did  I  sow, 
And  with  mine  own  hands  wrought  to 

make  it  grow; 

And  this  is  all  the  harvest  that  I  reap'd, 
*  I  come  like  water,  and  like  wind  I  go/  " 

One  of  the  few  things  that  we  may  know 
in  life  is  this,  that  it  is  impossible  for  man  to 
know  anything  absolutely.  The  power  of 

15 


Cfre  ffintosopljp  of  Beggait  :  : 


reasoning  is  a  mere  "  by-product  in  the  pro- 
cess of  Evolution."  It  is  but  an  instrument 
to  help  out  the  confusion  of  the  senses,  and 
it  is  conditioned  by  the  accuracy  of  the  sense- 
perceptions  with  which  it  deals.  There  is  no 
appeal  from  experience  to  reason,  for  reason 
is  powerless  to  act  save  on  the  facts  of  human 
experience.  Speculative  philosophy  can  teach 
us  nothing.  The  senses  and  the  reason  are 
intensely  practical  and  all  our  faculties  are 
primarily  adapted  to  immediate  purposes. 
Instruments  such  as  these  cannot  serve  to 
probe  the  nature  of  the  infinite.  But  no  other 
instruments  lie  within  reach  of  man.  If  we 
cannot  "reach  the  heart  of  reality"  by  reason, 
what  indeed  can  we  reach  ?  What  right  have 
we  to  know  or  to  believe  ?  And  if  we  can  know 
or  believe  nothing,  what  should  we  try  to  do  ? 
And  how  indeed  can  we  do  anything?  Every 
man's  fate  is  determined  by  his  heredity  and 
his  environment.  In  the  Arab  proverb  he  is 
born  with  his  fate  bound  to  his  neck.  In  the 
course  of  life  we  must  do  that  which  has  been 
already  cut  out  for  us.  Our  parts  were  laid 
for  us  long  before  we  appeared  to  take  them. 
He  is  indeed  a  strong  man  who  can  vary  the 
cast  or  give  a  different  cue  to  those  who  fol- 

16 


::  CJie  P)tlosopi)p  of  Brspatt :: 

low.  Nature  is  no  respecter  of  persons,  and 
to  suppose  that  any  man  is  in  any  degree  "the 
arbiter  of  his  own  destiny"  is  pure  illusion. 
We  are  thrust  forth  into  life,  against  our  will. 
Against  our  will  we  are  forced  to  leave  it. 
We  find  ourselves,  as  has  been  said,  "  on  a 
steep  incline,  where  we  can  veer  but  little  to 
the  left  or  right";  whichever  way  we  move 
we  fall  finally  to  the  very  bottom.  The  fires 
we  kindle  die  away  in  coals ;  castles  we  build 
vanish  before  our  eyes.  The  river  sinks  in 
the  sands  of  the  desert.  The  character  we 
form  by  our  efforts  disintegrates  in  spite  of 
our  effort.  If  life  be  spared  we  find  ourselves 
once  again  helpless  children.  Whichever  way 
we  turn  we  may  describe  the  course  of  life 
in  metaphors  of  discouragement. 

To  the  pessimistic  philosopher  the  progress 
of  the  race  is  also  mere  illusion.  There  is 
no  progress^only  qHflptfltion  Every  creature 
must  fit  itself  to  its  environment  or  pass  away. 
The  beast  fits  the  forest  for  the  same  reason 
that  the  river  fits  its  bed.  Life  is  only  pos- 
sible under  the  rare  conditions  in  which  life 
is  not  destroyed. 

In  such  fashion  we  may  ring  the  changes  of 
the  despair  of  philosophy.  If  we  are  to  take 

17 

,   ^>T  .„•&       ,,. 


of  Bespatr  :: 


up  the  threads  of  life  by  the  farther  end  only, 
we  shall  never  begin  to  live,  for  only  those 
which  lie  next  us  can  ever  be  in  our  hand. 
To  grasp  at  ultimate  truth  is  to  be  forever 
empty-handed.  To  reach  for  the  ultimate 
end  of  action  is  never  to  begin  to  act. 

Deeper  and  more  worthy  of  respect  is  the 
sadness  of  science.  The  effort  "  to  see  things 
as  they  really  are,"  to  get  out  of  all  make-be- 
lieve and  to  secure  that  "  absolute  veracity  of 
thought"  without  which  sound  action  is  im- 
possible does  not  always  lead  to  hopefulness. 
-*  There  is  much  to  discourage  in  human 
history, — in  the  facts  of  human  life.  The 
common  man,  after  all  the  ages,  is  still  very 
common.  He  is  ignorant,  reckless,  unjust, 
selfish,  easily  misled.  All  public  affairs  bear 
the  stamp  of  his  weakness.  Especially  is 
this  shown  in  the  prevalence  of  destructive 
strife.  The  boasted  progress  of  civilization 
is  dissolved  in  the  barbarism  of  war.  Whether 
glory  or  conquest  or  commercial  greed  be 
war's  purpose,  the  ultimate  result  of  war  is 
death.  Its  essential  feature  is  the  slaughter 
of  the  young,  the  brave,  the  ambitious,  the 
hopeful,  leaving  the  weak,  the  sickly,  the 
discouraged  to  perpetuate  the  race.  Thus 

18 


:  :  C^e  l^tiosop&p  of  Bespair 


all  militant  nations  become  decadent  ones. 
Thus  the  glory  of  Rome,  her  conquests  and 
her  splendor  of  achievement,  left  the  Romans 
at  home  a  nation  of  cowards,  and  such  they 
are  to  this  day.  For  those  who  survive  are  not 
the  sons  of  the  Romans,  but  of  the  slaves, 
scullions,  the  idlers  and  camp-followers  whom 
the  years  of  Roman  glory  could  not  use  and 
did  not  destroy.  War  blasts  and  withers  all 
that  is  worthy  in  the  works  of  man. 

That  there  seems  no  way  out  of  this  is  the 
cause  of  the  sullen  despair  of  so  many  scholars 
of  Continental  Europe.  The  millennium  is 
not  in  sight.  It  is  farther  away  than  fifty 
years  ago.  The  future  is  narrowing  down 
and  men  do  not  care  to  forecast  it.  It  is 
enough  to  grasp  what  we  may  of  the  present. 
We  hear  "the  ring  of  the  hammer  on  the 
scaffold."  "  Let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  tomor- 
row we  die."  "  The  sad  kings,"  in  Watson's 
phrase,  can  only  pile  up  fuel  for  their  own 
destruction,  and  the  failure  of  force  will 
release  the  unholy  brood  which  force  has 
caused  to  develop.  The  winds  of  freedom 
are  tainted  by  sulphurous  exhalations.  In  all 
our  merry-making  we  find  with  Ibsen  that 
"  there  is  a  corpse  on  board."  The  mask  is 

19 


: :  Cije  ^if)tlosopf)j>  of  Bespatt : : 

falling  only  to  show  the  Death's  head  there 
concealed.  Aristocracy,  Democracy,  An- 
archy, Empire,  the  history  of  politics,  is  the 
eternal  round  of  the  Dance  of  Death. 

When  we  look  at  human  nature  in  detail 
we  find  more  of  animal  than  of  angel,  and  the 
"  veracity  of  thought  and  action,"  which  is 
the  choicest  gift  of  Science,is  lost  in  thehappy- 
go-lucky  movement  of  the  human  mob.  "To 
see  things  as  they  really  are  "  is  the  purpose 
of  the  philosophy  of  Pessimism  in  the  hands 
of  its  worthiest  exponents.  But  we  know 
what  is,  and  that  alone,  even  were  such  knowl- 
edge possible,  is  not  to  know  the  truth.  The 
higher  wisdom  seeks  to  find  the  forces  at 
work  to  produce  that  which  now  is.  The 
present  time  is  the  meeting  time  offerees ;  the 
present  fact  their  temporary  product.  To 
the  philosophy  of  Evolution,  "  every  meanest 
day  is  the  conflux  of  two  eternities."  Each 
meanest  fact  is  the  product  of  the  world- 
forces  that  lie  behind  it ;  each  meanest  man 
the  resultant  of  the  vast  powers,  alive  in  hu- 
man nature,  struggling  since  life  began.  And 
these  forces,  omnipotent  and  eternal,  will 
never  cease  their  work. 

To  the  philosophy  of  Pessimism,  the  child 

20 


of 


is  a  mere  human  larva,  weak,  perverse,  dis- 
agreeable, the  heir  of  mortality,  with  all 
manner  of  "  defects  of  doubt  and  taints  of 
blood,"  gathered  in  the  long  experience  of 
its  wretched  parentage. 

In  the  more  hopeful  view  of  Evolution 
the  child  exists  for  its  possibilities.  The 
huge  forces  within  have  thrown  it  to  the  sur- 
face of  time.  They  will  push  it  onward  to 
development,  which  may  not  be  much  in  the 
individual  case,  but  beyond  it  all  lie  the  pos- 
sibilities of  its  race.  Inherent  in  it  is  the 
power  to  rise,  to  form  its  own  environment, 
to  stand  at  last  superior  to  the  blind  forces  by 
which  the  human  will  was  made.  With 
this  thought  is  sure  to  come,  in  some  degree, 
the  certainty  that  the  heart  of  the  Universe 
is  sound,  that  though  there  be  so  many  of  us 
in  the  world,  each  must  have  his  place,  and 
each  at  last  "  be  somehow  needful  to  infin- 
ity." We  can  see  that  each  least  creature  has 
its  need  for  being.  The  present  justifies  the 
past.  It  is  the  transcendent  future  which 
renders  the  commonplace  present  possible. 

The  "  dragons  of  the  prime, 
That  tore  each  other  in  the  slime," 

21 


: :  Cfie  $$tto0op|i?  of  Beapatr : : 

lived  and  fought  that  we  their  descendants 
may  realize  ourselves  in  "  lives  made  beautiful 
and  sweet,"  through  all  unlikeness  to  dragons. 
It  was  necessary  that  every  foot  of  soil  in 
Europe  should  be  crimsoned  by  blood,  wan- 
tonly shed,  to  bring  the  relative  peace  and 
tolerance  of  the  civilization  of  Europe  today. 
It  always  "  needs  that  offense  must  come  "  to 
bring  about  the  better  condition  in  which  each 
particular  offense  shall  be  done  away.  For 
the  evolution  of  life  is  not  in  straight  lines 
from  lower  to  higher  things,  but  runs  rather 
in  wavering  spirals.  It  is  the  resultant  of 
stress  and  storm.  The  evil  and  failure  which 
darken  the  present  are  necessary  to  the  illu- 
mination of  the  future.  Time  is  longl  "  God 
tosses  back  to  man  his  failures"  one  by  one, 
and  gives  him  time  and  strength  to  try  again. 
According  to  Schopenhauer,  we  move 
across  the  stage  of  life  stung  by  appetite  and 
goaded  by  desire,  in  pain  unceasing,  the  sole 
respite  from  pain,  the  instant  in  which  desire 
is  lost  in  satisfaction.  To  do  away  with  desire 
is  to  destroy  pain,  but  it  also  destroys  exist- 
ence. Desire  is  lost  where  the  "  mouth  is 
stopped  with  dust,"  and  with  death  only 
comes  relief  from  pain. 

22 


of 


Thus  the  Pessimist  tells  us  that  "  the  only 
reality  in  life  is  pain."  But  surely  this  is  not 
the  truth.  He  who  knows  no  reality  save 
appetite  has  never  known  life  at  all.  The 
realities  in  life  are  love  and  action;  not  desire, 
but  the  exercise  of  our  appointed  functions. 

Action  follows  sensation.  The  more  we 
have  to  do  the  more  accurate  must  be  our  sen- 
sations, the  greater  the  hold  environment  has 
upon  us.  Broader  activities  demand  better 
knowledge  of  our  surroundings.  Greater  sen- 
sitiveness to  external  things  means  greater 
capacity  for  pain,  hence  greater  suffering, 
when  the  natural  channels  of  effort  are  closed. 
Thus  arises  the  hope  for  nothingness  in 
which  many  sensitive  souls  have  indulged. 
With  no  surroundings  at  all,  or  with  environ- 
ment that  never  varies,  there  could  be  no 
sense-perception.  To  see  nothing,  to  feel 
nothing  —  there  could  be  no  demand  for 
action.  With  no  failure  of  action  there  could 
be  no  weariness.  From  the  varied  environ- 
ment of  earthly  life  spring,  through  adapta- 
tion, the  varied  powers  and  varied  sensibili- 
ties, susceptibilities  to  joy  and  pain  as  well  as 
the  rest.  The  greater  the  sensitiveness  the 
greater  the  capacity  for  suffering.  Hence  the 

23 


Bespatr  :: 


"quenching  of  desire,"  the  "turning  toward 
Nirvana,"  the  desire  to  escape  from  the  hide- 
ous bustle  of  a  world  in  which  we  are  able  to 
take  no  part,  is  a  natural  impulse  with  the  soul 
which  feels  but  cannot  or  will  not  act. 

"  Can  it  be,  O  Christ  in  Heaven, 
That  the  highest  suffer  most, 

That  the  strongest  wander  farthest 
And  most  hopelessly  are  lost  ?  — 

That  the  mark  of  rank  in  Nature 

Is  capacity  for  pain, 
And  the  anguish  of  the  singer 

Marks  the  sweetness  of  the  strain  ?  " 

That  this  must  be  so  rests  in  the  very 
nature  of  things.  The  most  perfect  instru- 
ment is  one  most  easily  thrown  out  of  adjust- 
ment. The  most  highly  developed  organism 
is  the  most  exactly  fitted  to  its  functions,  the 
one  most  deeply  injured  when  these  func- 
tions are  altered  or  suppressed. 

Man's  sensations  and  power  to  act  must  go 
together.  Man  can  know  nothing  that  he 
cannot  somehow  weave  into  action.  If  he 
fails  to  do  this  in  one  form  or  another,  it  is 
through  limitations  he  has  placed  on  him- 
self. Man  cannot  suffer  for  lack  of  "more 

24 


of 


worlds  to  conquer,"  because  his  power  to 
conquer  worlds  is  the  product  of  his  own 
past  life  and  his  own  past  needs.  To  weave 
knowledge  into  action  is  the  antidote  for 
ennui.  To  plan,  to  hope,  to  do,  to  accom- 
plish the  full  measure  of  our  powers,  what- 
ever they  may  be,  is  to  turn  away  from  Nir- 
vana to  real  life.  A  useful  man,  a  helpful 
man,  an  active  man  in  any  sense,  even  though 
his  activity  be  misdirected  or  harmful,  is 
always  a  hopeful  man. 

The  feeling  that  "  the  only  reality  in  life 
is  pain,"  is  the  sign  not  of  philosophical 
acuteness  but  of  bodily  under-vitalization. 
The  nervous  system  is  too  feeble  for  the  body 
it  has  to  move.  To  act  is  to  make  the  en- 
vironment your  servant.  Its  pressure  is  no 
longer  pain  but  joy.  The  concessions  which 
life  has  made  to  time  and  space  are  the  source 
of  life's  glory  and  power. 

The  function  of  the  nervous  system  is  to 
carry  from  the  environment  to  the  brain  the 
impressions  of  truth,  that  action  may  be  true 
and  safe.  Pain  and  pleasure  are  both  inci- 
dental to  sound  action.  The  one  drives,  the 
other  coaxes  us  toward  the  path  of  wisdom. 
If  pain  is  in  excess  of  joy  in  our  experience, 

25 


::  C|)e  Pjtlosopfjp  of  Bespatr  :: 

it  is  because  we  have  wandered  from  the  path 
of  normal  activity.  By  right-doing,  we 
mean  that  action  which  makes  for  "abundanc  e 
of  life,"  and  abundance  of  life  means  fulness 
of  joy.  "Though  life  be  sad,  yet  there's  joy 
in  the  living  it "  was  the  word  of  the  ancient 
Greeks,  "who  ever  with  a  frolic  welcome 
took  the  Thunder  and  the  Sunshine/' 

The  life  of  man  is  dynamic,  not  static ;  not 
a  condition  but  a  movement.  "  Not  enjoy- 
ment and  not  sorrow"  is  its  end  or  justifica- 
tion. It  is  a  rush  of  forces,  an  evolution 
towards  greater  activities  and  higher  adjust- 
ment, the  growth  of  a  stability  which  shall 
be  ever  more  unstable.  This  onward  motion 
is  recognized  in  the  pessimistic  philosophy  of 
Von  Hartmann,  as  a  movement  towards  ever 
greater  possibilities  of  pain.  With  him  life 
is  "  the  supreme  blunder  of  the  blind  uncon- 
scious force"  which  created  man  and  de- 
veloped him  as  the  prey  of  ever-increasing 
suffering. 

But  the  power  to  enjoy  has  grown  in  like 
degree,  and  both  joy  and  pain  are  subordi- 
nated to  the  power  to  act.  The  human  will, 
the  power  to  do,  is  the  real  end  of  the  stress 
and  struggle  of  the  ages.  However  limited 

26 


::  Cfje  $f)tio#)pf)£  of  Bespatr  :: 

its  individual  action,  the  will  finds  its  place 
among  the  gigantic  factors  in  the  evolution 
of  life.  It  is  not  the  present,  but  the  ultimate, 
which  is  truth.  Not  the  unstable  and  tem- 
porary fact  but  the  boundless  clashing  forces 
which  endlessly  throw  truths  to  the  surface. 

Another  source  of  Pessimism  is  the  reac- 
tion  from  unearned  pleasures  and  from  spuri- 
ous joys.  It  is  the  business  of  the  senses  to 
translate  realities,  to  tell  the  truth  about  us 
in  terms  of  human  experience.  Every  real 
pleasure  has  its  cost  in  some  form  of  nervous 
activity.  What  we  get  we  must  earn,  if  it 
is  to  be  really  ours.  Long  ago,  in  the  infancy 
of  civilization,  man  learned  that  there  were 
drugs  in  Nature,  cell  products  of  the  growth 
or  transformation  of  "  our  brother  organisms, 
the  plants/'  by  whose  agency  pain  was  turned 
to  pleasure.  By  the  aid  of  these  outside  influ- 
ences he  could  clear  "  today  of  past  regrets 
and  future  fears,"  and  strike  out  from  the 
sad  "  calendar  unborn  tomorrow  and  dead 
yesterday." 

That  the  joys  thus  produced  had  no  real 
objective  existence,  man  was  not  long  in  find- 
ing out,  and  it  soon  appeared  that  for  each 
subjective  pleasure  which  had  no  foundation 

27 


of 


in  action,  there  was  a  subjective  sorrow,  like- 
wise unrelated  to  external  things. 

But  that  the  pains  more  than  balanced  the 
joys,  and  that  the  indulgence  in  unearned  de- 
ceptions destroyed  sooner  or  later  all  capacity 
for  enjoyment,  man  learned  more  slowly. 

The  joys  of  wine,  of  opium,  of  tobacco  and 
of  all  kindred  drugs  are  mere  tricks  upon  the 
nervous  system.  In  greater  or  less  degree 
they  destroy  its  power  to  tell  the  truth,  and 
in  proportion  as  they  have  seemed  to  bring 
subjective  happiness,  so  do  they  bring  at  last 
subjective  horror  and  disgust.  And  this  utter 
soul-weariness  of  drugs  has  found  its  way  into 
literature  as  the  expression  of  Pessimism. 

"The  City  of  the  Dreadful  Night,"  for 
example,  does  not  find  its  inspiration  in  the 
misery  of  selfish,  rushing,  crowded  London. 
It  is  the  effect  of  brandy  on  the  sensitive  mind 
of  an  exquisitive  poet.  Not  the  world,  but 
the  poet,  lies  in  the  "  dreadful  night"  of  self- 
inflicted  insomnia.  Wherever  these  subject- 
ive nerve  influences  find  expression  in  litera- 
ture it  is  either  in  an  infinite  sadness,  or  in 
hopeless  gloom.  James  Thompson  says  in 
the  "  City  of  the  Dreadful  Night"  : 


28 


::  Cfje  ^ilosopfi?  of  Bespatr  :: 

"  The  city  is  of  night  but  not  of  sleep ; 

There  sweet  sleep  is  not  for  the  weary 

brain. 

The  pitiless  hours  like  years  and  ages  creep — 
A  night  seems  termless  hell.  This  dread- 
ful strain 
Of  thought  and  consciousness  which  never 

ceases, 
Or  which  some  moment's  stupor  but  in- 


creases." 


"  This  Time  which  crawleth  like  a  monstrous 

snake, 

Wounded  and  slow  and  very  venomous/' 
*     *     * 

'  Lo,  as  thus  prostrate  in  the  dust  I  write 
My  heart's  deep  languor  and  my  soul's 

sad  tears — 

But  why  evoke  the  spectres  of  black  night 
To  blot  the  sunshine  of  exultant  years ! " 

"  Because  a  cold  rage  seizes  one  at  times 

To  show  the  bitter,  old  and  wrinkled 

truth, 

Stripped  naked  of  all  vesture  that  beguiles 
False  dreams,  false  hopes,  false  masks  and 
modes  of  youth." 

29 


:?  Cfre  ffifrilogopfig  of  Begpair  :; 

All  this,  alas,  is  the  inevitable  physical  out- 
come of  the  attempt  to — 

j"  Divorce  old,  barren  Reason  from  my  house 
To  take  the  daughter  of  the  vine  to  spouse." 

All  subjective  happiness  due  to  nerve  stimu- 
lation is  of  the  nature  of  mania.  In  propor- 
tion to  its  intensity  is  the  certainty  that  it  will 
be  followed  by  its  subjective  reaction,  the 
"Nuit  Blanche"  the  "dark  brown  taste,"  by 
the  experience  of"  the  difference  in  the  morn- 
ing/' The  only  melancholy  drugs  can  drive 
away  is  that  which  they  themselves  produce. 
It  is  folly  to  use  as  a  source  of  pleasure  that 
which  lessens  activity  and  vitiates  life. 

There  are  many  other  causes  which  induce 
depression  of  mind  and  disorder  of  nerve. 
Where  nerve  decay  is  associated  with  genius 
and  culture,  we  shall  find  some  phase  of  the 
philosophy  of  Pessimism.  In  fact,  cheerful- 
ness is  not  primarily  a  result  of  right  think- 
ing, but  rather  the  expression  of  sound  nerves 
and  normal  vegetative  processes.  Most  of  the 
philosophy  of  despair,  the  longing  to  know 
the  meaning  of  the  unattainable,  vanishes  with 
active  out-of-door  life  and  the  consequent 
flow  of  good  health.  Even  a  dose  of  quinine 

30 


of 


:: 


may  convert  to  hopefulness  when  both  ser- 
mons and  arguments  fail. 

For  a  degree  of  optimism  is  a  necessary 

/accompaniment  of  health.     It  is  as  natural  as 

/animal  heat,  and  is  the  mental  reflex  of  it. 

J  Pessimism  arises  from  depression  or  irrita- 

tion or  failure  of  the  nerves.    It  is  a  symptom 

of  lowered  vitality  expressed  in  terms  of  the 

mind. 

There  is  a  philosophical  Pessimism,  as  I 
have  already  said,  over  and  above  all  merely 
physical  conditions,  and  not  dependent  on 
them.  But  the  melancholy  Jacques  of  our 
ordinary  experience  either  uses  some  narcotic 
or  stimulant  to  excess,  or  else  has  trouble  with 
his  liver  or  kidneys.  "  Liver  complaint,"  says 
Zangwill,  "  is  the  Prometheus  myth  done  into 
modern  English."  Already  historical  criti- 
cism has  shown  that  the  Bloody  Assizes  had 
its  origin  in  disease  of  the  bladder,  and  most 
forms  of  vice  and  cruelty  resolve  themselves 
into  decay  of  the  nerves.  It  is  natural  that 
degeneration  should  bring  discouragement 
and  disgust.  But  whatever  the  causes  ofPes- 
simism,  whether  arising  in  speculative  phi- 
losophy in  nervous  diseasepr  in  persanalfail- 
ure,  it  can  never  be  wrought  into  sound  and 


helpful  life.  To  live  effectively  implies  the 
belief  that  life  is  worth  living,  and  no  one 
who  leads  a  worthy  life  has  ever  for  a  moment 
doubted  this. 

Such  an  expression  as  "  worth  living  "  has  in 
fact  no  real  meaning.  To  act  and  to  love  are 
the  twin  functions  of  the  human  body  and 
soul.  To  refuse  these  functions  is  to  make 
one's  self  incapable  of  them.  It  is  in  a  sense 
to  die  while  the  body  is  still  alive.  To  refuse 
these  functions  is  to  make  misery  out  of  ex- 
istence, and  a  life  of  ennui  is  doubtless  not 
"worth  living." 

The  philosophy  of  life  is  its  working  hy- 
pothesis of  action.  To  hold  that  all  effort  is 
futile,  that  all  knowledge  is  illusion,  and  that 
no  result  of  the  human  will  is  worth  the  pain 
of  calling  it  into  action,  is  to  cut  the  nerve  of 
effectiveness.  In  proportion  as  one  really 
believes  this,  he  becomes  a  cumberer  of  the 
ground.  It  was  said  of  Oscar  McCulloch, 
an  earnest  student  of  human  life,  that  "  in 
whatever  part  of  God's  universe  he  finds  him- 
self, he  will  be  a  hopeful  man,  looking  for- 
ward and  not  backward,  looking  upward  and 
not  downward,  always  ready  to  lend  a  helping 
hand,  and  not  afraid  to  die." 

32 


Of  like  spirit  was  Robert  Louis  Stevenson: 

"  Glad  did  I  live  and  gladly  die, 
And  I  laid  me  down  with  a  will." 

It  is  through  men  of  this  type  that  the 
work  of  civilization  has  been  accomplished, 
"men  of  present  valor,  stalwart,  brave  icono- 
clasts." They  were  men  who  were  content 
with  the  order  of  the  universe  as  it  is,  and 
seek  only  to  place  their  own  actions  in  har- 
mony with  this  order.  They  have  no  com- 
plaints to  urge  against  "  the  goodness  and 
severity  of  God,"  nor  any  futile  wish  "  to 
remould  it  nearer  to  the  heart's  desire."  The 
"Fanaticism  for  Veracity"  is  satisfied  with 
what  is.  Not  the  ultimate  truth  which  is 
God's  alone,  but  the  highest  attainable  truth, 
is  the  aim  of  Science,  and  to  translate  Science 
into  Virtue  is  the  goal  of  civilization. 

The  third  question  which  Science  may  ask 
is  the  direct  one.  In  what  part  of  the  uni- 
verse are  you,  and  what  are  you  doing? 
Thoreau  says  that  "  there  is  no  hope  for  you 
unless  this  bit  of  sod  under  your  feet  is  the 
sweetest  to  you  in  this  world — in  any  world." 
Why  not  ?  Nowhere  is  the  sky  so  blue,  the 
grass  so  green,  the  sunshine  so  bright,  the 

33 


::  C£e  $fnlo0op£p  of  Bespair  :: 

shade  so  welcome,  as  right  here,  now,  today. 
No  other  blue  sky,  nor  bright  sunshine,  nor 
welcome  shade  exists  for  you.  Other  skies 
are  bright  to  other  men.  They  have  been 
bright  in  the  past  and  so  will  they  be  again, 
but  yours  are  here  and  now.  Today  is  your 
day  and  mine,  the  only  day  we  have,  the  day 
in  which  we  play  our  part.  What  our  part 
may  signify  in  the  great  whole  we  may  not 
understand,  but  we  are  here  to  play  it,  and 
now  is  the  time.  This  we  know,  it  is  a  part 
of  action,  not  of  whining.  It  is  a  part  of  love, 
not  cynicism.  It  is  for  us  to  express  love  in 
terms  of  human  helpfulness.  This  we  know, 
for  we  have  learned  from  sad  experience  that 
any  other  course  of  life  leads  toward  decay 
and  waste. 

What,  then,  are  you  doing  under  these 
blue  skies?  The  thing  you  do  should  be  for 
you  the  most  important  thing  in  the  world. 
If  you  could  do  something  better  than  you 
are  doing  now,  everything  considered,  why 
are  you  not  doing  it  ? 

If  every  one  did  the  very  best  he  knew,  most 
of  the  problems  of  human  life  would  be  already 
settled.  If  each  one  did  the  best  he  knew, 
he  would  be  on  the  highway  to  greater  knowl- 

34 


of  3Bespair  : 


edge,  and  therefore  still  better  action.  The 
redemption  of  the  world  is  waiting  only  for 
each  man  to  "lend  a  hand." 

It  does  not  matter  if  the  greatest  thing  for 
you  to  do  be  not  in  itself  great.  The  best 
preparation  for  greatness  comes  in  doing  faith- 
fully the  little  things  that  lie  nearest.  The 
nearest  is  the  greatest  in  most  human  lives. 

Even  washing  one's  own  face  may  be  the 
greatest  present  duty.  The  ascetics  of  the 
past,  who  scorned  cleanliness  in  the  search 
for  godliness,  became,  sometimes,  neither 
clean  nor  holy.  For  want  of  a  clean  face 
they  lost  their  souls. 

It  was  Agassiz's  strength  that  he  knew  the 
value  of  today  .  Never  were  such  bright  skies 
as  arched  above  him  ;  nowhere  else  were  such 
charming  associates,  such  budding  students, 
such  secrets  of  nature  fresh  to  his  hand.  His 
was  the  buoyant  strength  of  the  man  who 
can  look  the  stars  in  the  face  because  he  does 
his  part  in  the  Universe  as  well  as  they  do 
theirs.  It  is  the  fresh,  unspoiled  confidence 
of  the  natural  man,  who  finds  the  world  a 
world  of  action  and  joy,  and  time  all  too 
short  for  the  fulness  of  life  which  it  de- 
mands. When  Agassiz  died,  "  the  best  friend 

35 


: :  Cfje  $fntofioj)f)£  of  Bespit : : 

that  ever  student  had,"  the  students  of  Har- 
vard "  laid  a  wreath  of  laurel  on  his  bier,  and 
their  manly  voices  sang  a  requiem,  for  he 
had  been  a  student  all  his  life  long,  and  when 
he  died  he  was  younger  than  any  of  them." 

Optimism  in  life  is  a  good  working  hypoth- 
esis, if  by  optimism  we  mean  the  open-eyed 
faith  that  force  exerted  is  never  lost.  Much 
that  calls  itself  faith  is  only  the  blindness  of 
self-satisfaction. 

What  if  there  are  so  many  of  us  in  the 
ranks  of  humanity  ?  What  if  the  individual 
be  lost  in  the  mass  as  a  pebble  cast  into  the 
Seven  Seas  ?  Would  you  choose  a  world  so 
small  as  to  leave  room  for  only  you  and 
your  satellites  ?  Would  you  ask  for  prob- 
lems of  life  so  tame  that  even  you  could  grasp 
them  ?  Would  you  choose  a  fibreless  Uni- 
verse to  be  "  remoulded  nearer  to  the  heart's 
desire,"  in  place  of  the  wild,  tough,  virile, 
man-making  environment  from  which  the 
Attraction  of  Gravitation  lets  none  of  us 
escape  ? 

It  is  not  that  "  I  come  like  water  and  like 
wind  I  go."  I  am  here  today,  and  the 
moment  and  the  place  are  real,  and  my  will 
is  itself  one  of  the  fates  that  make  and  un- 

36 


: :  Cfje  $j)tiosopf)2  of  Bespatr  : : 

make  all  things.  "  Every  meanest  day  is 
the  conflux  of  two  eternities,"  and  in  this 
center  of  all  time  and  space  for  the  moment 
it  is  I  that  stand.  Great  is  Eternity,  but  it 
is  made  up  of  time.  Could  we  blot  out  one 
day  in  the  midst  of  time,  Eternity  could  be 
no  more.  The  feebleness  of  man  has  its 
place  within  the  infinite  Omnipotence. 

It  is  a  question  not  of  hope  or  despair, 
but  of  truth,  not  of  optimism  nor  of  Pessim- 
ism, but  of  wisdom.  Wisdom  is  knowing 
what  to  do  next ;  virtue  is  doing  it.  Re- 
ligion is  the  heart  impulse  that  turns  toward 
the  best  and  highest  course  of  action.  "  It 
was  my  duty  to  have  loved  the  highest. 
What  does  that  demand  ?  What  have  I  to 
do  next  ?  Not  in  infinity,  where  we  can  do 
nothing,  but  here,  today,  the  greatest  day 
that  ever  was,  for  it  alone  is  mine ! 

What  matter  is  it  that  time  does  not  end 
with  us?  Neither  with  us  does  history 
begin.  An  Emperor  of  China  once  decreed 
that  nothing  should  be  before  him,  that 
all  history  should  begin  with  him.  But  he 
could  go  no  farther  than  his  own  decree. 
Who  are  you  that  would  be  Emperor  of 
China  ? 

37 


of 


"The   eternal   Saki   from   that   bowl  hath 

poured 
Millions  of  bubbles  like  us  and  shall  pour." 

Why  not?  Should  life  stop  with  you? 
What  have  you  done  that  you  should  mark 
the  end  of  time  ?  If  you  have  played  your 
part  in  the  procession  of  bubbles,  all  is  well, 
though  the  best  you  can  do  is  to  leave  the 
world  a  little  better  for  the  next  that  follows. 

If  you  have  not  made  life  a  little  richer  and 
its  conditions  a  little  more  just  by  your  living 
you  have  not  touched  the  world.  You  are 
indeed  a  bubble.  If  some  kind  friend  some- 
where "turn  down  an  empty  glass,"  it  will 
be  the  best  monument  you  deserve.  But  to 
have  had  a  friend  is  to  leave  the  glass  not 
wholly  empty,  for  life  is  justified  in  love  as 
well  as  in  action. 

The  words  of  Omar  need  to  be  read  with 
the  rising  inflection,  and  they  become  the  ex- 
pression of  exultant  hopefulness. 

"The   eternal    Saki  from   that  bowl   hath 

poured 
Millions  of  bubbles  and  SHALL  POUR!" 

Small  though  we  are  the  story  is  not  all  told 
when  we  are  dead.  The  huge  procession 

38 


::  Cfje  ^ilogop^  of  Bespair  :: 

goes  on  and  shall  go  on,  till  the  secret  of  the 
grand  symphony  of  life  is  reached. 

"A  single  note  in  the  Eternal  Song 
A  perfect  Singer  hath  had  need  for  me." 

*f*  *1*  *** 

"I  do  rejoice  that  when  of  Thee  and  Me 

Men  speak  no  longer,  yet  not  less  but  more 
The  Eternal  Saki  still  that  bowl  shall  fill 
And  ever  fairer,  clearer  bubbles  pour." 

In  the  same  way  we  must  read  with  the  ris- 
ing inflection  the  lines  of  Tennyson: 

"I  falter  when  I  firmly  trod, 

And  falling  with  my  weight  of  cares, 
Upon  the  World's  great  altar-stairs 
That  slope  through  darkness,  UP  TO  GOD!" 

Read  these  words  with  courage,  and  with 
the  upward  turn  of  the  voice  at  the  end.  It 
is  no  longer  in  the  darkness  that  we  falter. 
The  great  altar-stairs  of  which  no  man  knows 
the  beginning  nor  the  end,  do  not  spring  from 
the  mire  nor  end  in  the  mists.  They  "slope 
through  darkness  up  to  God,"  and  no  one 
could  ask  a  stronger  expression  of  that  robust 
optimism  which  must  be  the  mainspring  of 
successful  life. 

39 


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C£T 

"         -'-^ 

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IN  STACKS 

^MHr 


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8Jan'53RWJIUTb  Disp  CIRC 


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U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


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